Chapter Four

I walk into work Monday afternoon having spent the majority of the day sleeping in to get used to the schedule I'll have to follow the next few weeks. There are a lot of night shoots on a show like this, and the first shoot here on set is one of them. They've already done all the getting-to-know-you shots. Those had been done in more formal studios before the cast was required to be in the city.

There's a reason most reality dating shows don't take place in New York City. They find mansions in California where they have tons of room to film, but for some reason they think this one can work.

"Can I see your ID?" The security guard's question reminds me I'm here for a reason.

I stand in the studio space. From what I understand the contestants will be staying in a gorgeous Gilded Age mansion, one of the few left that hasn't been broken up and redone as apartments. There are still a few left standing, and this one has a place in my heart. I hadn't recognized the address, though I suspect Harper would have if I'd told her.

Once my two best friends and I had stood in that mansion when we visited it on a class trip. We'd snuck away and promised to always stick together.

Maybe it won't be so bad since I'm here and I know they are, too. Somewhere in the city we live in, Ivy is getting a taco and Harper is installing drywall. Not really since they're both probably getting ready to end their workdays, but you get the point. This place tied us together once, and even though they can't be here with me, I feel better.

It's not like I'm going into a battle.

I'm going into work, and everything will be fine. It's six weeks of my life. That's all. And then I'll be back on track and I'll have either saved a man's career from bitter rumors or trashed a dude who deserves trashing.

I can do this.

"Do you have ID?"

"Oh, yeah." I fumble through my bag to get it out. "Sorry. My brain's not working yet. I'm supposed to report to the key production assistant. I think his name is Patrick. Do you know where he is?"

The burly security guard checks my ID against his list and passes me a lanyard that proclaims me to be crew. He sits back and yawns as he points down a long hallway. "That way, I think. I don't know. This place is weird. There are actual tunnels they're using. Apparently whoever used to own this place made his money smuggling booze or something. Don't wander down there, though. I would bet it floods."

I promise not to wander and then immediately break the promise because he's right and this place is huge. It's been years since I was here, and I hadn't exactly walked in the front door. The production crew has also taken over the building next to the mansion as its primary studio, and that's the building I'm wandering through now. I likely won't see a ton of the mansion since that's where the "contestants" are going to live. I'll primarily be running between sets.

I walk down one hall and find hair and makeup, and it looks like they're wrapping up. A stunning woman is sitting in one of the chairs, having her natural curls worked on. Her makeup is flawless, and she could be a model.

The real filming begins this evening when the first cocktail party with the king will take place, and His Majesty will dash the dreams of three women right then and there.

When I think about it, it's kind of brutal.

But the good news is I'll likely be wandering around this place trying to find coffee or the right lightbulbs or whatever the directing crew requires. I won't have to watch the drama that will play out this evening.

I turn around from that dead end and find myself walking toward the smell of coffee. I'm a couple of minutes early, right? I can get my own coffee before I get everyone else's.

"Hey," a voice says as I pass an open door. "Hey, are you the new PA?"

I want to cry because I have to say yes. I stop and back up because he hasn't come out of the room, merely expects me to hear him and return. That's the nature of what I'm going into. I'm the lowest of the low. The assistant to all assistants. I flash a bright smile as I take in the room. "Hi. I'm Anika Fox."

The man is standing in the middle of a room filled with comms equipment. He's not the only one, but he's the only one who seems to care about me. The rest of the guys don't bother to look up from where they're organizing what is likely everything they need for the day's filming.

"I'm Patrick Dennings. This is my set and you're late." Patrick is probably twenty-five and looks like he could be talent. He's extremely handsome, with blond hair and a face that could be on a magazine cover. He's dressed down, but I would bet the man is fashionable as hell in his daily life. He's what we call the key production assistant, which means he's in charge of all the production assistants and is likely very territorial over his position.

He's also super irritated with me. I check my watch again. "I'm here ten minutes before my call time."

"You're here twenty minutes after everyone else arrived. Look, I get that you're some kind of nepo hire, but I don't care who your mother or father or uncle is. I don't care if you're someone's side piece."

"Hey." I wasn't about to take that from him. "And I don't care that you're some asshole who thinks because he's slightly higher than me on the staff, that it's okay to harass me."

Now all the boys are looking my way.

Patrick frowns. "Harass you?"

I need them all to understand I'm not going to put up with their toxic crap. Oftentimes I have to introduce myself. "Yeah, look, you can dress me down all you like, but if you call me a whore again, I'll have you wrapped up in a lawsuit. I am new to this set. I am not new to life, and despite my short stature and blonde hair, I'm not going to allow anyone to push me around, and that includes you."

His eyes narrow. "You're not going to last long here."

He's not the first bully I've dealt with. "We'll see about that. Now I would like to be the nice version of myself, but I can introduce you to the other side of me. If you want me here thirty minutes before the call sheet says, tell me. I have gotten neither call nor text. I assume you have access to my paperwork and therefore you have my phone number."

He puts down the comm he's been inspecting. "We have a meeting before every shift. I update the crew on what's being filmed that day and what will be required of you. Now you know, and I'll expect you here on time."

He's not exactly polite, but he's also not screaming so I count it as a win. "I'll be here for the meeting tomorrow. Where do you need me tonight?"

He seems to calm, going back to his equipment check. "We've gotten hit with a curve ball. Completely out of nowhere, the director has decided to do some viral marketing. He's going to live stream some of the meetings and do some candid shots with the contestants. It's going to be live on the network's website. He's hoping it turns into one of those break-the-Internet things."

"Live?" It's kind of my nightmare. I know they used to do live shows back in the day, but you know what we have now? Editing. Editing is an important part of life. It is the eraser on the pencil we call entertainment. "Is he sure he wants to do that? What if one of the contestants says something awful?"

Patrick's shoulder shrugs. "Well, then he's absolutely sure to go viral. I don't think he cares. I think he knows what's on the line, and he's willing to do pretty much anything to make this show a success. That means he's going to pull out all the stops."

Which means Joseph Helms will be relying on the crew to make his vision come true. I am suddenly happy I'm going to be the coffee girl. Though Patrick isn't responsible for filming, he will feel the burden of the live segments. Everyone will.

"Where do you want me?" I ask. I don't like the man, but he's obviously under pressure.

He sighs and picks up a comm unit. "Take this to the west side of the building. We've managed to get the city to let us shut down the side street so we can film the horse-drawn carriages delivering the future queen to her king." He gags a little. "Pass this off to Joe's assistant. Her comm wasn't working earlier. And then you can help the cleanup crew."

One of the other men snorts.

"Cleanup?" It feels like a trap.

He gives me an asshole smirk. "Yeah, can't have the horse crap showing up in the shot, can we? Good luck with that, new girl."

I'm back to hating him, but I can't exactly walk out in protest. I take the comm. At least I'll get to meet the woman closest to Helms on set. She's been his assistant for years, and it will be good for me to get close to her. "Will do, boss."

I start to turn.

"New girl," he says, causing me to stop.

I turn, waiting for some more of his vitriol.

Instead he frowns, and his tone is softer. "I didn't mean to call you a whore. I apologize. My boyfriend and I broke up a couple of weeks ago and I'm still cranky about it. If you think the horse poop is punishment, it's not. I had you on horse detail long before you annoyed me. You're the low man for now, and you'll get the crappiest assignments. Literally. Do your job and we'll get along."

I nod. "All right."

"The lockers are two doors down. Drop your stuff off and get that comm to the set. They're about to start," he says.

I hustle out because it looks like this job is just beginning.

The "studio" is a maze of rooms, and it takes me a while to figure out how to maneuver my way to the other side of the building where I can get to the set. Everyone is buzzing with energy, and I hear them talking about the live shoot.

Most of them think the idea is risky. Some of them are excited to work live.

Everyone thinks Helms is a genius who's slumming.

"I have no idea what he's going to do now," a woman with a headset on says as she walks through the door. "That woman is insane. The king is gorgeous. I would give up a job to have a shot at that hunk of a man."

I step through the door as she heads for the elevator.

"Yes, the director lost his shit when he found out," she says as the door closes behind me, and I find myself in a romantic paradise.

Okay, I know it's cheesy, but I'm a hearts and flowers girlie. I like the romantic crap, and they've done a fabulous job. They've brought in thousands of flowers. They decorated the street and the buildings. There's a red carpet that leads from where the carriage stops to where the king will greet the contestants. The sun is setting and the lights are about to come on, and the whole place feels magical to me. Sometimes I think I can't see the flaws, the falseness of a set. All I see is a different world, a place we made as a space for the story we want to tell.

This is something of a story, I think. Surely there's a story somewhere in here that will entertain…whoever happens to watch a show like this.

They've closed the narrow side street down at both ends, and I can see we've got help keeping crowds away. There's an NYPD cruiser at either end and two elaborate carriages fit for a future queen. I step down and the horses are right there with two trainers and two men who are dressed like they're picking up a Bridgerton for a ball.

I can already smell the horse poop, so fantasy over.

"Is that my comm?" a woman asks. She's wearing jeans and a T-shirt that shows off her toned body. She's stunningly gorgeous, and she gives me a smile as I hand over the comm.

"Yes. Patrick told me to bring it to the director's assistant, who I assume is you," I reply. "I'm going to be on set tonight working with the horses. If there's anything you need, let me know."

She settles the unit over her head, adjusting the microphone so it's away from her mouth. "I'm Christy, and yes, I'm Joe's assistant." She looks me over. "If you hadn't been holding that comm, I would have thought you were wayward talent. You're a pretty girl."

That got weird fast. "Uh, thanks."

She snorts. "I'm not hitting on you. I have a problem, and you might be the solution. Come with me. You're off poop duty." She touches the comm. "Yeah, Joe, I found someone who'll work. She's a PA, but she'll fit right in. You wanted a shortie, so maybe this works out." She starts to walk inside the studio, looking back at me, an expectant expression on her face. "Are you coming or not?"

Definitely a trap. Still, I'm almost certain I'm about to meet the man I'm supposed to be investigating, so I follow her. A couple of winding staircases later and I'm ushered into a luxurious space that's made up like a lush mancave. There's a bar on one end of the room and a massive screen that takes up a whole wall.

It's nearly impossible to have a trailer on a city set, so this is what passes for the director's trailer. His hideaway and workspace.

There's a desk with pictures of Joseph Helms and his wife. Mrs. Helms is a beautiful blonde who looks slightly younger than her middle-aged husband.

I know Jess can't stand the woman, but I hope I don't have to be the one to tell her if her husband is cheating.

"I can't do it with twelve," Joe says into his cell as he walks in from another room. "The whole thing is timed. I need thirteen contestants. No, I can't have him cut one less. You are not understanding the situation."

"Neither am I," I whisper under my breath.

"Okay, I'll give you the cheap-seats version." Christy is also a blonde. She's tall and willowy and weirdly reminds me of the woman in the picture, though they're obviously not the same. Christy is older.

The man seems to have a type, and I realize why I'm here.

Blonde, cute, young-looking.

Jessica knows exactly what she's doing. She found her bait, and apparently it is me.

"So we have thirteen contestants," Christy says, her voice low so she doesn't disturb the currently pacing director. "There are ten episodes we're planning to film. One of the women who was set to compete got a call from her agent who got her a job on a TV show. The trouble is she has to be on set tomorrow. I've begged her to stay on tonight and the king can simply cut her at the first elimination ceremony, but she claims she needs her beauty sleep. So I've lost our sales rep from Nevada and everyone is freaking out."

"I thought she was an actress."

"They're all actresses. Well, almost all. I think the midwestern girl is really an accountant," Christy says. "But it's better we talk about what else they do for a living. None of them are solid working actors, of course, but almost all of them want to be in the industry."

I'm not following fully. "I don't understand. If he's scheduled to cut three women, why not simply cut two? It shouldn't cause a disruption with the shooting. You'll still have ten episodes."

"But he's obsessed with this live event he's got going. It's set up for thirteen women," Christy says as her eyes follow her boss. "I've tried to get him to see it's okay, but he insists on the original thirteen. I guess he's worried people will ask questions if he doesn't have the thirteen that were promised."

"Why would he worry about that? It's not in his control." Things go wrong all the time. No one blames the director. Nope. That's a PA's job.

"He's had a couple of rumors circulate that he's hard to work with. He's not. He's the sweetest man," Christy assures me. "But he's in the running for a big franchise, and he wants everything to be in line with his vision. Thirteen is apparently his perfect number. And that is where you come in… What was your name?"

"Anika."

She brings her fingers to her lips in a chef's kiss. "Oh, you are perfect. And you're the right size. You're a six?"

I nod. "Why do you need to know my dress size? Am I going to be working in a costume?" It isn't completely unheard of. If they need a crowd for a scene, they sometimes hire actors or shove crew into the appropriate attire and let them shuffle around. "You need a walk-on one?"

A one meant I wouldn't have any lines and wouldn't be asked to do anything more specific than walk in a direction. I would be set décor. A two and three were basically small part roles often with a dash of dialogue.

"Nope. I need a lot more from you." Christy waves a hand to get Joe's attention as he places his cell phone on the bar. There's no booze there. Just a bunch of soda and water bottles, reminding me he's sober and seems to want to stay that way. "I have the solution."

Joe turns and his eyes widen. "Oh, yes. She'll do nicely."

"I'll do what?" Terror is kind of flowing through my veins at this point because I've got an inkling of what they need from me.

The director gives me a wide smile. "Compete for the crown."

Yep. I want to be back with the horses.